


man! i feel like a woman

by poetictragedy



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Begging, Biting, Crossdressing, Dom/sub Undertones, Fingering, M/M, Nipple Play, Spanking, Teasing, how does tagging work, i guess idk they're not ~superheroes~ in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-13
Updated: 2012-10-13
Packaged: 2017-11-16 05:21:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/535970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetictragedy/pseuds/poetictragedy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(the title for this is supposed to be for crack purposes only)</p>
<p>With Tony’s birthday around the corner, Steve drags Clint out to help him find a surprise for him but Clint finds a surprise for Bruce -- and himself -- instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	man! i feel like a woman

”Please, Clint.” Steve sits on the edge of the bed and Clint has half the mind to kick him off, but he doesn’t. “Will you come with me?”

Clint sighs and spreads his legs, bending one slightly as he folds an arm under his chin. “Why don’t you ask Tasha? I’m sure she’d love to go shopping,” he mumbles, yawning once the words are out and silently praying that Steve will go so he can go back to sleep.

“I already asked her,” Steve tells him, sighing heavily. “She told me that she was at work and that I should ask _you_.”

“Of course she did.”  _That’s just like Natasha_ , Clint thinks as he turns over onto his back carefully, holding the sheets above his waist so Steve doesn’t see how naked he is underneath. “What are you going shopping for anyway?”

Huffing, Steve lifts a hand and rubs it over his beard, studying Clint. “You know that Tony’s birthday is soon,” he says and Clint nods his head, lifting a hand to wave it like he’s an conducting an orchestra, encouraging Steve to go on. “And I want to surprise him with something different this year,” Steve continues, dropping his hand to his lap.

“So buy him a new bottle of scotch.”

“I’ve already done that three times this month.”

Clint blinks and looks at Steve. “Tony’s gone through  _three_  bottles of scotch in a month?” His friend nods and Clint shakes his head, sighing. “Where are we going?”

“Is that a yes?” Steve asks, keeping any and all excitement out of his voice.

“I guess so,” Clint replies, sitting up carefully, pulling the sheets onto his lap. “Now — where are we going?”

The grin on Steve’s face almost makes it worth it and Clint smiles back. “There’s a place not too far away from here and… it’s a sex shop.”

“Oh no. No, no, no —  _no_.” Clint shakes his head and moves a hand through his hair, staring at Steve with big eyes. “I am not going to some freaky sex shop with you so you can buy something gross for you and Tony. Sorry, but that is out of the fucking question,” he says quickly, scratching the back of his neck. 

“It’s not a gross sex shop!” Steve stands up and huffs again, chewing the corner of his lip as he looks down at Clint. “It’s more like a sex costume shop,” he explains, moving his hands as he talks, “they have outfits for roleplaying in the bedroom and they’ve got some things I think Tony will like.”

When Clint doesn’t answer, Steve sighs. “Will you please just come with me?”

“What do I get if I do?” Clint asks, sounding like a petulant child; he even crosses his arms like one, somehow completing the act. 

“Anything you want,” Steve says, spreading his hands helplessly. “I’ll let you guys use my cabin upstate whenever you want.” 

Clint thinks about that offer and purses his lips, nodding. “Alright,” he finally says, making a shooing motion toward Steve. “Get out so I can get dressed, then we’ll go to your kinky sex store and pick out your dumb outfits for Tony.”

“Thank you, Clint!” Steve smiles and turns away, going out of the bedroom. When the door slams shut behind him, Clint gets up and wraps the sheets around his waist, heading toward the closet. He opens the doors and looks at the clothes inside — most of them being Bruce’s — and he grabs a random shirt, pulling it on quickly.

The fabric hangs off of him and Clint suddenly realizes that he grabbed one of Bruce’s shirts and he smiles fondly, touching the hem before grabbing a pair of pants from another hanger. He drops the sheet and pulls the jeans on, not even bothering with a pair of boxers, knowing that the second he comes home, the pants are coming off anyway.

After a few last minute adjustments, Clint grabs his cellphone and wallet, stuffing them into his pocket on his way to the door. When he opens it, Clint pokes his head out and sees Steve sitting on the arm of the couch with one of Bruce’s science magazines in his hands, his face scrunched up in confusion.

“What are you looking at?” Clint asks as he emerges from the room, walking toward a line of shoes in the corner.

“Something about molecules.” With a shrug, Steve flips the pages and makes a sudden noise; the sound of pages flapping together follows and Clint raises a brow, turning on his heels to stare at Steve. “What?”

Shaking his head, Clint smirks and turns back. “Nothing, just wondering what all that was about. What’d you do, see something gross?”

“Maybe I did,” Steve says, voice soft as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Are you almost ready?” He asks, tapping his foot against the floor impatiently.

“Almost,” Clint says, grabbing a pair of boots off the floor before slipping his feet into them. He laces them up and pulls the end of his pants legs down over top of them before straightening up and turning back to Steve. “Ready, Captain Impatient.”

Steve stands and makes a face at Clint. “I thought the phrase was Captain Obvious?”

“It…” Clint pauses and looks at Steve, shaking his head. “Nevermind. Come on, let’s go.” 

Moving across the room, Clint opens the front door and motions for Steve to step out into the hall first, waiting until he’s out to lock the door and step out beside him. He shoves his keys into his pocket and gives Steve’s shoulder a nudge before they make their way to the stairs, neither of them saying anything.

Fifteen minutes later, Steve is pulling Clint — actually  _dragging_ him — into a store with male mannequins wearing corsets and panties in the window. When they’re inside, Clint looks around and wrenches his arm away from Steve’s hand, blinking at all of the things on the walls and shelves. 

In a few places, Clint sees more male figures standing with lingerie on and he understands quickly that this isn’t an ordinary shop. When he turns around to look for Steve, Clint finds him in the corner looking at a corset that’s decked out to look like the American flag. 

Shaking his head and laughing quietly to himself, Clint moves toward Steve and shoves his hands into his pockets, bumping his shoulder against his friend’s. When Steve looks up from the piece of clothing in his hands, Clint raises his eyebrows slowly.

“So,” he starts off, licking his lips, chuckling. “You didn’t tell me this was a lingerie store for men.”

“Oh,” Steve mutters, blushing as he turns his attention back to the corset, moving his fingers over the front slowly. “I wanted to, but I knew that you would have run away if I mentioned men’s lingerie…”

Clint shrugs a shoulder and looks around. “Not necessarily,” he says, eyes roaming around the shop until they settle on black and purple corset in the opposite corner of the store. “I’ll uh, be over there if you need me.” Clint points in the direction he’s looking and, when Steve says ‘okay,’ moves toward the corset slowly.

When he gets to the other side of the store, Clint looks at the corset and matching panties carefully, running his fingers over the material. It’s a rich purple colour and there’s a black, frilly lace trimming the edge of the top and the bottom. He runs his rough fingertips over the lace carefully and traces it until he reaches a bow in the middle of the chest.

It doesn’t take Clint long to realize that he’s in love the corset and he looks down at the panties — which are black and silky — and he runs his fingers over them slowly, swallowing hard. He’s so wrapped up in looking at the corset and daydreaming of the things Bruce would do to him while wearing it, that he doesn’t realize that a saleswoman is standing next to him, not until she speaks.

“Can I help you?” She asks, her voice pulling Clint out of his reverie.

Blinking, he drops his hand away from the outfit. “Actually,” he says, chewing his lip as he looks at the corset, tilting his head to the side. “What else would you recommend for this outfit?”

“Well, fishnet stockings would look great with that.”

“Fishnet?” Clint asks, turning to look at the saleswoman — whose name tag says ‘Stacy’ — with a confused expression. “I’ve never done anything like this before, so you may have to help me,” he admits, chuckling nervously.”

Stacy waves a hand dismissively and smiles. “No problem. Why don’t you grab your size,” she nods to the corset, “and meet me over in the stocking department when you’re done?” 

Licking his lips, Clint thinks about that and looks at the corset again, nodding. “I can do that,” he says, already moving to look for his size. 

A few moments later, Clint has a corset — and matching panties — in his size and he takes them over to the stockings, where he finds Stacy with four different paris of fishnet in her hands. She smiles brightly at Clint when he comes over and he blushes, holding the corset to his chest.

“There are a few different kinds of fishnet,” Stacy explains, holding up a pair that has large holes. “These go all the way up to your waist and they have larger holes, which is better - in my opinion - for your lover to hold onto, because their fingers can slide right in there.”

Clint nods like he understands and looks at the stockings. “I like the bigger holes,” he says, trying not to laugh at how ridiculous that statement sounds. 

“Then these two can be put away.” Stacy puts two pairs back on the shelf and holds the remaining choices out to Clint. “The pair on the right are thigh-highs, which would require you to get a garter belt, so you can snap ‘em right on.”

“A garter belt..” Clint repeats the words and shakes his head; he’s only ever heard of a garter belt once and that was from Natasha complaining about them one night. “Okay, I can do that one.”

Five minutes later, Clint purchases the corset, the matching underwear, another pair of panties that are black and purple, along with the garter belt and the fishnet stockings. Even when Stacy bags everything, he can’t believe that he actually bought lingerie for himself and his heart pounds in his chest when he thinks about how Bruce will react when he sees it.

“Thank you for shopping with us,” Stacy says when she hands Clint his bag and credit card, smiling at him. “And I hope you’ll come back to see us,” she adds, leaning against the counter when Clint takes his things.

“If my boyfriend reacts well to all of this,” Clint starts as he puts his card back in his wallet, stuffing it into his back pocket, “then I’ll definitely be back.” With a smile, Clint turns and heads back to where Steve is gathering things in his arms; he laughs when he sees everything his friend is holding and whistles softly.

Steve looks up and blushes, holding his arms out. “Help me?”

“Sure.” Clint takes a few things from Steve — a french maid’s outfit, the patriotic corset he was looking at earlier, and a pair of high heels that make Clint worried that Steve will break his neck wearing them — and steps back. “Are you  _really_  buying all of this for Tony’s birthday?”

“Do you think it’s too much?”

Clint looks at the stuff in his arms and then Steve’s, nodding. “Little bit.”

“Shit,” Steve says, frowning as he looks at the things he’s planning to buy. “What should I get rid of? What should I keep? God, Clint, this is so hard.”

“Just calm down,” Clint advises, moving closer. “Get the french maid’s outfit and the heels,” he says, grabbing them before tossing the corset back onto the shelf, holding the heels and outfit out to Steve. “Then, later on, you and Tony can come back and shop until you both drop.”

Nodding, Steve starts putting things back on their shelves. “Guess you’re right,” he mumbles, putting the last thing away until there’s only one thing left in his hands, a pair of small-holed fishnet stockings. 

“I am right.” Clint laughs and hands the shoes and the dress to Steve, before shifting his bag from one hand to the other.

“You bought something?” Steve asks as they make their way to the counter and Clint shrugs a shoulder, letting the bag swing against his thigh.

“Yeah, a few things. I figured I might as well… since I’m here, you know.”

Steve grins and sets his things down on the counter, turning to Clint. “See? You got something out of this trip after all.”

“But Bruce and I still get your cabin.” Clint points a finger at Steve and his friend laughs, nodding his head as he turns back to the register. While waiting for Steve to pay for his things, Clint checks his phone and sees a message from Bruce, saying that he got out of a meeting early and that he’ll be home soon. “Shit,” he says, staring at the screen.

“What?” Steve asks as he puts his wallet back into his pocket.

Clint puts his phone away and swallows thickly. “Bruce’s coming home early,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve gotta go.”

Turning around, Steve nods and smiles. “Go ahead; your assistance is no longer needed here,” he says, winking at Clint.

“Yeah, yeah,” Clint grumbles, clapping his hand on Steve’s shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow, alright? Don’t let Tony find those, or else the surprise will be ruined.”

“And we don’t want that?”

Snorting, Clint shakes his head and moves to the door. “Have a good night, Rogers.”

“You too, Barton!” Steve calls out, watching Clint leave the store.

When he gets outside, Clint hails a cab and goes back to his place, throwing money at the taxi driver before shutting the door behind him. He moves up to his apartment quickly and goes inside, shutting and locking the door seconds before kicking his boots off. 

Grabbing his shoes, Clint takes them to the bedroom and goes to the closet, tossing them inside along with Bruce’s shirt; he knows that Bruce will complain about the shirt not being hung up, but Clint doesn’t care. He’s anxious to get into the corset and to see his reflection in the mirror.

Once his shirt is off, Clint lays his bag on the bed and pulls his jeans off, tossing them onto the floor before turning his attention to the contents inside the bag. With shaky fingers, he pulls the corset out and lays it on the mattress, chewing his lip as he pulls everything else out, spreading it across the bed.

“Shit,” Clint mumbles to himself, staring at the clothes in front of him. He feels a heat creep along his body and something travels down his spine, causing him to shiver and close his eyes. Sucking in a deep breath, he blinks his eyes open and moves to grab the corset, untying the ribbons in the back.

The thrill of what he’s doing and the realization that he’s going to be in clothes that are normally for women makes Clint’s whole body thrum and he swallows hard, pulling the corset on quickly. Once it’s in place, he starts to lace up the back the best he can, pulling the ribbons tightly. He pulls them and the corset tightens around them, making it hard to breathe for a moment before he starts to adjust to it.

Giving up on tying the ribbons all the way, Clint moves to grab the matching panties, running his fingers over the silky fabric before slipping them on. The fabric glides against his legs and he shivers at the sensation, biting back a moan when the underwear slides against his cock, which is already half hard.

He runs his fingers over his covered cock and swallows again, dropping his hands to the bed, grabbing the fishnet stockings with shaky fingers. After a moment of struggling, Clint gets the package open and he pulls the stockings out, stretching them to their full length, gaping at them.

_How are these supposed to fit on_ my _legs_? He thinks, staring at the large holes, poking a finger through one of them. The flimsy fabric hangs off the tip of his finger  and he licks his lips slowly, rubbing them together as he rolls the stockings down until the lacy top meets the bottom.

With a heavy sigh, Clint sits on the edge of the bed and slips his foot into the stocking, rolling it back up until the top fits comfortably around his tan thighs. He holds his leg out once the stocking is all the way up and looks at the way the fishnets look against his skin, feeling his cock harden more.

After a moment of admiring one leg, Clint grabs the other stocking and does the same thing with it — rolling it down before slipping his foot in and rolling the stocking up slowly, adjusting it so that the top fits snugly around his thigh. Once that’s done, he stands and picks the garter belt up, running his fingers over it, trying to figure out how the hell to put it on.

It takes him an embarrassingly long amount of time to put the garter belt on and, when he does, Clint snaps the clips to the top of the stockings. He straightens up once he’s done and moves toward the bathroom, heart beating wildly in his chest with each and every step. 

His stocking-clad feet glide against the floor and, for a second, Clint’s afraid he’s going to slip and bust his ass — which only adds more fuel to the fire — but he makes it to the bathroom without any incident. With a shaky hand, Clint flips the light on and steps into the bathroom cautiously, biting his lower lip as he turns toward the mirror.

When Clint gets a look at his reflection in the mirror, he gasps softly and lifts a hand to touch the bow on the top of his corset. He can’t believe that the man in the mirror is really him, so he blinks his eyes a couple of times, half expecting the image to disappear. Instead of seeing himself in his every day clothing, Clint stares at himself in the corset and chuckles, running a hand down his side.

The corset gives Clint’s body the illusion of curves and he bites his lip harder, looking at the way his chest looks in it. It’s surreal and he shouldn’t be enjoying it, but Clint is excited and he loves the way he looks — and feels — in the damn thing. The real question is — will Bruce love him in it? 

Clint gasps again when he thinks about Bruce and he touches the top of the underwear cautiously, running his fingers over them slowly, biting his lower lip harder than before. His panic comes back and he starts to wonder if Bruce will actually find him attractive or if he’ll laugh at him. 

“God, he’s going to think I’m stupid,” he mumbles, moving to turn the light off, but not before catching a glimpse of his ass in the mirror. The panties are tight enough to make his ass look good and Clint smiles, thankful for that much.

When he steps into the bedroom, Clint stops dead in his tracks when he hears the front door open, breath hitching in his throat. He swallows thickly and walks around the end of the bed, leaning against the foot board, wrapping a hand around it, listening out for Bruce’s footsteps. Soon, he hears them and his heart races, his pulse quickening and Clint tries to calm himself down by taking in a deep breath, but it doesn’t help.

“Clint?” Bruce calls out, his voice near the door and his footsteps approaching slowly. 

Pursing his lips together, Clint closes his eyes and sighs deeply. “In here,” he answers, the words sounding distant to him as he waits for Clint to come into the bedroom.

The footsteps come closer and Clint’s breathing speeds up as he listens to the faint sound of the doorknob being twisted. His knees tremble as he hears the hinges squeak and his breathing stops when he hears Bruce walk into the room, screwing his eyes shut so he doesn’t have to see his boyfriend’s initial reaction to what he’s wearing. 

“I —” Bruce pauses and stares at Clint, his eyes going up and down his boyfriend’s body carefully, suddenly at a loss for words.

“You — what?” Biting the edge of his lip, Clint grips the foot board with both hands and leans his thigh against it, listening to the noises around them — his own breathing, Bruce’s, the cars from ten stories down.

Then the silence settles in and Clint’s body tenses uneasily. 

“I don’t know what to say,” Bruce says after a time, finally moving from his spot in the door, shutting it behind him. “What are you wearing?” 

Clint opens his eyes and looks at Bruce, then down at his outfit. “I got dragged to this  _stupid_  store with Steve and I saw this and — and one thing led to another and,” he pauses, swallowing hard before continuing in a soft voice, “I thought that maybe you’d like it? I know, that was stu—”

Bruce laughs and interrupts Clint, causing him to look up and stare at his boyfriend, both of his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. When Bruce stops giggling, he runs a hand down his face, scrubbing his fingers over a week’s worth of stubble with a grin.

“It’s not stupid,” he says, scratching his cheek lightly. “Just unexpected, that’s all.”

“So,” Clint says, chewing his lip in between words, “you like it, then?”

Nodding, Bruce steps forward and wraps his hands around Clint’s hips. “I think you look very sexy in it, especially with the colours,” he answers, his grin fading into a soft smile that lets Clint know that it’s all okay and that he’s not stupid for dressing up in lingerie. 

Clint wraps his arms around Bruce’s neck and kisses him softly, moving a hand to the back of his head, fingers tangling in his thick curls. Their lips move together slowly and Bruce turns Clint, pushing him against the foot of the bed, moving both hands down to his ass, gripping it tightly; Clint makes a noise into his mouth and parts his lips, gasping softly.

After a minute, Bruce pulls back and looks down at Clint, eyes locking on his stocking-clad legs. A growl comes from deep in his throat and he licks his lips, running a hand along the outside of Clint’s thigh before touching the top of one of the stockings, running his finger underneath the edge of the lace.

“Bruce..” Clint moans, shivering a bit as he runs his fingers through Bruce’s hair.

“Shh.” Bruce licks his lips and smiles, feeling Clint’s fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer until their lips are almost touching. He can feel Clint’s breath against his mouth and Bruce parts his lips slowly, running a finger underneath the strap connecting Clint’s stockings to his garter belt. 

When his hand gets high enough, Bruce slips his finger under the leg hole of Clint’s panties, running it underneath the edge before pulling it aside as best he can, listening to his boyfriend suck in a deep breath. He grins and bites at Clint’s lips, moving a hand to the front of the silky underwear, pressing the palm of his hand against Clint’s cock, eliciting a loud whimper from deep in his chest.

Bruce kisses Clint once and pulls away, smirking. “I think I’m a bit overdressed, don’t you agree?” 

“Maybe a little,” Clint agrees, flushing when he realizes that he’s showing a lot more skin than Bruce is.

“What should I take off, hmm?” The ‘hmm’ comes out as a light hum and Bruce leans in, brushing his lips against Clint’s ear, causing him to tip his head back.

Biting his lower lip, Clint gives Bruce’s hair another tug. “Everything,” he whispers, moaning when Bruce bites his ear, causing him to hiss out, “except for your briefs.”

“Alright.” Bruce takes a step back and drops his hands away from Clint’s body, watching his chin drop toward his chest, eyes snapping open and settling on his face. He gives his boyfriend a small smile and unbuttons his shirt slowly, cocking his head to the side as he watches Clint carefully, studying the way his body moves and trembles. “You want this, don’t you?”

Clint nods his head and swallows hard, eyes snapping to the collar of Bruce’s shirt where a patch of dark hair is poking up underneath the light blue fabric. Trying to say something coherent is like grasping at straws for Clint, so he just stares at Bruce and watches him peel his shirt away from his body.

“Answer me.” Though he uses a command, Bruce’s voice is soft as he speaks, folding his shirt up before stepping forward to lay it on the bed behind Clint.

“Yes,” Clint answers, finally, his voice shaking as badly as his body. His eyes snap up to catch Bruce’s gaze and he sucks in a deep breath, letting it out slowly, trying to calm his body down. It doesn’t work, and Clint didn’t really expect it to.

Silence falls between them and Clint moves his gaze away from Bruce’s, allowing his eyes to roam over every inch of his boyfriend’s body, mostly staying on his torso and upper body. He can see most of Bruce’s chest hair, though his boyfriend is wearing an undershirt — some thin, see through piece of crap tank top that doesn’t hide anything from the imagination.

Clint sighs contentedly and swallows thickly, letting his eyes roam lower to Bruce’s work pants — simple, khaki fabric — and he can see the bulge in the front. A shudder passes through him again and he moves a hand to the front of his underwear, palming himself through the thin fabric, eyes moving up Bruce’s body again, settling on his face and the small, lopsided grin he’s wearing. 

“ _Bruce_.” The name comes out as a whine and Clint swallows again, biting on the edge of his lip as he rubs himself through the panties, catching Bruce’s eye just before his gaze drops, zeroing in on what his hand is doing.  _God, we are sick fucks for being into this_ , Clint thinks as he pulls the fabric to the side before taking his cock out, stroking himself slowly.

Locking his gaze on Clint’s hand and cock, Bruce starts to undo his pants, popping the button quickly before pushing the zipper down with his thumb. Once they’re undone, he pushes them down and kicks them away, not worried about the clutter for the moment, just focused on what Clint’s doing and the way he’s breathing.

When his pants are off, Bruce takes his tank top off and tosses it aimlessly to the floor as he takes a step forward, running a hand up Clint’s forearm. “You’re so pretty, Clint,” he whispers, voice low and rough.

“Fuck me” is Clint’s response and Bruce laughs at him, shaking his head as he clicks his tongue against the back of his teeth. Clint lets out a groan and keeps stroking his cock until one of Bruce’s larger hands encloses around his wrist, stopping the movement.

“Not yet,” Bruce whispers, moving Clint’s hand away from his cock, before pinning it around his back. “I wanna have a little fun with you first,” he says, voice a harsh whisper as he leans in, kissing Clint’s chest lightly, dragging his teeth over his collarbones before biting down on one of them.

Clint’s cock strains against the silk and he tilts his head back, twisting his wrist against Bruce’s hold, groaning when he feels teeth sink into his skin. Something hot radiates from his chest down his body and he trembles, moving his free hand to Bruce’s side, digging his fingertips into the suntanned skin.

Another hand wraps around his wrist and Clint feels his arm being twisted as Bruce pulls it backwards, taking both of his wrists in one of his hands. He groans again and arches slightly, craning his neck, exposing his throat to Bruce, who takes advantage of having it stretched out in front of him. A pair of soft lips travel along his pulse, followed by the feeling of stubble, and Clint bucks forward, desperate for some kind of friction from Bruce. 

“Please.” Clint’s voice is desperate and he keeps repeating the word like a mantra, the syllable falling from his lips like a prayer. He begs Bruce for what seems like forever before he feels his boyfriend’s lips trailing up the curve of his neck, hot against his skin and leaving a cool burn in their wake.

Bruce’s lips are right against Clint’s ear, breath falling against the shell as he whispers, running a hand over one of his wrists, “Get out of the underwear and then get on your hands and knees on the bed, do you understand?”

Clint understands completely, but he can’t find the words to convey just how much — and how  _badly_ — he really does comprehend. Instead of speaking, he makes a squeaky noise in the back of his throat and whimpers when Bruce lets go of his hands. He watches his boyfriend step back, arms crossing over his chest, lip caught between his teeth as he tilts his head toward Clint, giving him a silent command.

After a moment, Clint moves and slips the panties down his legs, bending over as much as possible, before kicking the silk away, letting it fall to the ground a foot or so beside him. He straightens up and sucks in a breath, putting a hand over the middle of his stomach, looking at Bruce with a flushed face. The only thing he gets from Bruce is another curt nod of the head and a lift of an eyebrow; when Clint doesn’t move immediately, Bruce sets his jaw and that gets him moving.

Walking around the edge of the bed, Clint swallows hard and looks down at the mattress before climbing onto it, spreading his legs as wide as he can. He digs his fingers into the sheets underneath him and closes his eyes, breathing steadily through his nose as he hears Bruce’s footsteps approach the bed. When they stop, so does Clint’s breathing, and he waits for what’s about to come next, completely oblivious as to the things going through Bruce’s mind.

“So pretty,” Bruce murmurs as he smooths a hand over Clint’s ass, rubbing his skin carefully, listening to his breath hitch. “You know that you’ll have to wear this more often, right? Oh — just nod your head yes or no,” he says, moving his hand down under Clint’s ass, resting it on the back of his thigh.

_Christ_ , Clint thinks as he grits his teeth together, nodding his head slowly, listening to the way Bruce chuckles, the sound coming from somewhere deep in his chest and Clint realizes he’s never heard that noise before. Sure, he’s heard Bruce laugh hundreds of times — thousands, really — but he’s never heard his boyfriend make a noise like  _that_. Nothing can compare to that laugh and it sends shivers down Clint’s spine.

“Good boy.” The words, along with the way Bruce says them (voice low, almost a purr), make Clint’s body shudder and he moans, feeling Bruce’s hand move up his ass again before it’s gone. He whimpers at the loss and licks his lips slowly, screwing his eyes shut, waiting for Bruce to touch him again.

Clint hears the slap before he feels it; the loud, obscene  _crack_  of skin slapping against skin filling the air just before the sting creeps along his flesh. It burns and he wants to scream, wants to tell Bruce to stop teasing and just  _fuck him_ , but he keeps his lips pursed together, whimpering enough to make them vibrate.

“You want another?” Bruce asks, rubbing Clint’s inflamed skin.

_No_ , Clint thinks, pushing his lips out before parting them and letting his mouth open as he huffs sharply,  _I really don’t want another, Professor._  Feeling Bruce’s fingers moving along his skin in small, soothing circles, Clint shakes his head and whimpers, turning to look at Bruce over his shoulder, eyes pleading. 

Bruce fake pouts and moves his hand to Clint’s other cheek. “No? Why not? You can speak now,” he says, running the pad of his thumb down the cleft of Clint’s ass, watching his eyes flutter shut.

“Cause I want you,” Clint says simply, licking his lips quickly, opening his eyes after a moment to stare at Bruce. “Please, Bruce. Been hard and in this damn thing for too long,  _please_.” The last ‘please’ comes out in a choked voice and Clint swallows thickly, pressing his tongue between his teeth as he watches Bruce carefully.

Taking a deep breath, Bruce rests his thumb against Clint’s ass and nods. “Alright, I guess I’ve tortured you long enough,” he says, laughing as he moves away from the bed. “Take the corset off, but leave the stockings on — they look good on those legs of yours.”

Clint blinks and drops himself down, rolling onto his back with his legs spread, feet braced against the mattress as he watches Bruce move to the dresser. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly,” Bruce replies in a deadpan voice, grabbing a bottle of lube from the top of the dresser.

“Okay..” Huffing, Clint sits up and crosses his legs slightly, reaching around his back to undo the ribbons, tongue caught between his teeth in concentration and frustration. By the time he gets the laces undone, Bruce is walking back to the bed with a condom in one hand and a bottle of lube in the other, eyes roaming over Clint as he works the corset up and off his body, tossing it to the floor.

Bruce sits down on the edge of the bed and leans in, kissing Clint roughly, moving a hand up his calve, fingertips catching in the holes of the fishnet. When his fingers catch, Bruce pulls the stocking and kisses Clint even harder, biting his lips and nipping at them until his boyfriend is whining against his lips.

A hand moves to the back of Bruce’s head and he pulls away, smirking. “Ready?”

“God, yes,” Clint replies, groaning the words out as he twirls one of Bruce’s curls around his forefinger, giving it a slight tug. “I’ve been ready long before you came home, Professor.”

“What..” Bruce blinks, staring at Clint, slack jawed. “What’d you just call me?”

Raising his brows, Clint shrugs a shoulder and blushes, mumbling, “Professor.”

Something snaps inside and Bruce pushes Clint down on the bed before climbing on top of him, pressing their bodies together roughly. He pins Clint down against the mattress with his body weight and kisses him roughly, moving a hand to Clint’s short brown locks, tangling his fingers in it as they kiss.

Underneath him, Clint writhes and lifts his hips, trying desperately to slide their cocks together, feeling Bruce’s tongue pressing against his. He moans loudly and angles his hips carefully, his cock finally sliding against Bruce’s, making him moan again against Bruce’s mouth, the hand in his hair tangling and tugging sharply.

After a moment, Bruce comes up for air and he drops his head, resting his forehead against Clint’s shoulder, breathing heavily against his skin before peppering it with small kisses. He revels in each breath and small noise Clint makes when he kisses his skin, smiling against it before pulling away, hand gripping blindly for the bottle of lube that went god-knows-where when they started kissing.

“Where the fuck..” Bruce grumbles, feeling around for the bottle until his fingers close around the tube, pulling it up as he sits on his knees. He pops the cap and pours a liberal amount of lube onto his fingers, rubbing them against his thumb as he moves off of Clint’s lap. “On your knees again,” he says, his voice softer this time.

Without hesitation, Clint rolls over and pushes himself up onto his knees, spreading his legs as wide as they’ll go. His ass is right near Bruce and he looks over his shoulder, watching as his boyfriend’s hand disappears; he can feel two cold fingers press against his entrance and he swallows hard. When Bruce pushes the digits inside slowly, Clint closes his eyes and sucks in a breath, holding it until he feels the entire length of Bruce’s fingers inside of him.

The girth of two of Bruce’s fingers is nothing compared to his cock and Clint wants another finger or as many as Bruce will give him. Instead of speaking his mind and telling Bruce what he wants, Clint just rocks his hips against his boyfriend’s hand, feeling the digits pull out of him slowly before pushing back in. 

Clint moans and whimpers, fisting his hands in the sheets, twisting and tugging them as he pushes his hips back, fucking Bruce’s fingers quickly. He feels Bruce pull out and whimpers at the loss, only to groan when he feels three fingertips pressing against his entrance; they push in slowly and Clint moans, tipping his head back, letting the noise ring out through their bedroom.

Beside him, Bruce licks his lips and moves his free hand along Clint’s stomach, the heel of his hand brushing over the head of his cock, making him jump a little. When he jumps, Clint pushes back against the fingers in his ass and moans Bruce’s name loudly, feeling his hand move up and over his chest. 

Bruce pushes his fingers in and out slowly, separating and twisting them slightly as he rubs one of Clint’s nipples with the pad of his thumb. He applies a little pressure as he starts working his fingers in and out a little harder, crooking his fingertips to rub Clint’s prostate, listening to him whimper loudly.

“Ready for me?” Bruce asks, his voice lower than ever.

“Yeah,” Clint answers immediately, pushing back against Bruce’s hand. “Fuck, yes. Just — just,  _fuck_..” 

Laughing, Bruce pulls his fingers out and opens the condom wrapper. “Don’t worry, I’ll fuck you,” he says as he pulls the latex out, rolling it down over his cock quickly.

He checks to make sure the condom is snug at the base, giving Clint’s nipple one last rub before settling behind him, putting both hands on his hips. Biting his lip, Bruce moves his hands down and spreads Clint’s ass slowly, rubbing the head of his cock along his entrance and up and down carefully, hitting his balls once or twice on the way down.

“Tease,” Clint moans, dropping his head and chest toward the bed.

“You love it.” While this may be true, for both of them, Bruce knows that he won’t last long teasing Clint, so he pushes the head of his cock against his entrance, groaning as it starts to slip in.

The tight heat starts wrapping around Bruce’s cock and he groans, gripping Clint’s ass roughly as he keeps sliding in, going all the way. Once he’s balls deep inside of Clint, Bruce starts rocking his hips ever so slightly, just enough to make Clint moan and to drive him wild, but not enough to mislead him into thinking that he’s actually starting to fuck him.

He rocks for a moment and works his hips back and forth, working them the other way before rotating them slightly. When Clint starts moaning and begging more than he already was, Bruce starts to pull his hips back, fingertips digging into Clint’s ass, leaving red marks in the pale skin. 

Bruce’s cock is all the way out in no time and he teases Clint again, running a finger down the crease of his ass and back up, pushing it against his entrance until he’s nearly screaming for Bruce again. The second he starts screaming and begging  for it, Bruce pushes his cock inside Clint again and presses his hips against his ass, moving a hand up the middle of his back, pushing between his shoulderblades.

“So fucking -  _ngh_  - tight,” Bruce moans through grit teeth, the fingers in Clint’s ass digging harder as he starts to move, setting up a steady rhythm. He starts thrusting in and out, pushing against Clint’s ass when he’s balls deep, before pulling out again, leaving just the head of his cock inside Clint for a moment.

When Bruce teases him, Clint groans and claws at the sheets. “Come  _on_ , Bruce,” he complains, wiggling his ass and pushing it back in an attempt to get his boyfriend to move.

The second Bruce starts to move, Clint feels better; he starts moaning loudly, fingers twisting in the sheets and pulling them hard enough he’s actually worried that he’s going to rip a hole in them. Putting ripped sheets out of his mind, Clint focuses on the way Bruce’s hips feel when they press against his ass; how the hand between his shoulders presses down just enough to hurt, but not so much that he wants to cry or scream.

Suddenly, Bruce pulls out and settles back against his heels, smacking Clint’s thigh lightly. “Get closer to the headboard,” he says in a breathless voice, fingers trailing down to play with the top of the stocking.

Clint doesn’t understand, but he doesn’t question it either — just does what Bruce says because he wants to get fucked. He  _needs_  to get fucked and he doesn’t care in what position or how he gets it, just knows that he’s going to. Case closed.

Crawling toward the headboard, Clint pushes himself up and grabs onto it, spreading his legs wider before turning to look at Bruce over his shoulder. “This good?”

“Perfect.” Bruce bites his lip and moves behind Clint once again, wrapping an arm around his middle, while slipping his free hand down to grab the base of his cock, easing himself back into Clint slowly. When he’s all the way inside, Bruce pulls Clint back against him, his back pressing against his shoulder.

Clint can feel Bruce’s chest hair rubbing against his back and he moans, letting his head fall back against Bruce’s shoulder as he breathes hard. He slips his hand to his boyfriend’s, dragging his nails along the back of his hand as Bruce starts to thrust in and out of him, the hand on his ass moving around to travel up his chest.

Bruce circles one of Clint’s nipples with his middle finger and leans in to kiss his neck, breathing in deeply when his nose is pressed against the underside of his jaw. He closes his eyes and starts to thrust into Clint harder, listening to him moan and feeling the noises vibrate his throat as he kisses down it slowly.

“Bruce, oh — fuck, Bruce.” Clint’s voice is raw and broken, words coming after loud gasps or short, staggered breaths. His body feels like it’s on fire and he’s sweating, drops pouring down his shoulders, melding with Bruce’s sweat as he starts pumping in and out faster, the finger on his nipple working harder.

“Yeah,” Bruce whispers, moving his other hand down to wrap around Clint’s cock, stroking it slowly, trying to keep his strokes in time with his thrusts. Not long after he starts stroking Clint’s cock, his pace starts to mess up and Bruce’s hips jab against Clint’s ass while he strokes him quickly, thumbing over the head when he can.

He can tell by the way Clint’s breath hitches that he’s close, but he doesn’t want him to come, not yet. Bruce moves his hand away from Clint’s cock and starts fucking him harder, the bed moving and hitting the wall with every sharp thrust; the mattress squeaks underneath them and Bruce moans loudly, breathing heavily against Clint’s skin.

“Fuck, getting..” Bruce starts but a long moan interrupts him as Clint’s muscles clench around his cock. He gasps and pants against his boyfriend’s shoulder, playing with his nipple a little more before switching to the other. As he plays with this one, Bruce moves his free hand down and touches Clint’s thigh, just above the stockings, and he thinks about the moment he first saw Clint in the outfit.

A hot surge shoots up Bruce’s spine and he starts moving his hips harder, thinking about every possibly scenario he could have Clint in while he’s wearing his corset and fishnet. This thought stems into: what could Bruce get Clint next, and what other things for the bedroom could they get?

Clint’s whimpering pleas pull Bruce from his thoughts and he starts fucking him as hard as he can, their skin slapping together as Bruce moves a hand back to Clint’s cock, stroking him quickly. Every muscle in his body aches and he trembles, his fingers flexing and tightening around Clint, making him moan louder.

“Gonna…  _gonna come_ ,” Clint gasps brokenly, letting his head fall forward as he slumps against the headboard, thrusting his hips into Bruce’s hand. After two thrusts, Clint comes and nearly screams Bruce’s name along with a list of other curse words that Bruce can’t make out because he’s not paying attention.

Bruce’s focus is on how tight Clint gets around him when he comes, and how his muscles spasm around his cock. He strokes Clint through his orgasm and waits until he’s breathing better to pick up the pace, fucking into him harder than before, feeling his own orgasm approaching. 

Everything is white hot and Bruce’s lips are moving; he’s saying Clint’s name over and over, telling him that he’s going to come. With one final thrust, Bruce comes inside of Clint and falls against his back, pressing his face between his shoudlerblades as he moans, breathing heavily against Clint’s sweat-slick skin.

“Holy fuck…” Bruce huffs the words out and kisses Clint’s shoulder lightly before he pushes away, straightening up the best he can. “You okay?” He asks, worried that he may have hurt Clint in anyway.

Pushing away from the headboard, Clint falls back against Bruce and laughs. “I’m okay,” he says, voice breathless and soft.

“Good.” With a smile, Bruce kisses the side of Clint’s face and sighs heavily, moving his arms around his boyfriend’s middle, holding him close. They stay like that for a while, until Bruce’s legs almost give out on him and he pulls out of Clint quickly, grunting as he does. “Gonna throw this away,” he says as he stands up, his legs shaking slightly.

“I’ll be here,” Clint says, laying on the bed on his back, with his legs bent and spread slightly, eyes closed. Bruce looks at him and smiles, shaking his head as he walks around the end of the bed and toward the bathroom, taking each step carefully. He takes the condom off and tosses it into the trashcan before turning on his heels and grabbing a towel.

On his way back to the bed, Bruce cleans his hand up and sighs, looking at the mess that Clint made on the headboard and on the sheets. He shakes his head again and sits next to Clint on the mattress, using the towel to clean the come off the headboard, tossing it to the floor when he’s done.

Next, Bruce strips the pillows of their cases and tosses them onto the floor as well before laying next to Clint, moving a hand over his hip slowly. “Thank you,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss Clint’s shoulder lightly.

“For what?” Clint asks, voice sleepily.

“Surprising me.” Brushing his lips against Clint’s skin, Bruce smiles and mumbles, “It was a nice surprise — you should do it more often.”

“Mmm,” Clint hums, turning his head. “If Steve drags me to that store again, I will,” he mutters, blinking his eyes open to look at Bruce, smiling.

“Remind me to thank Rogers next time I see him.”

Clint laughs and shakes his head, turning onto his side. “That won’t be awkward at all,” he mumbles, lifting a hand to touch Bruce’s chest.

“Right,” Bruce nods, moving a hand to touch the garter belt around Clint’s waist, running his fingers down the strap. “Should take this off now so we can go take a nap.”

“Oh.” Blushing, Clint moves onto his back and unsnaps the stockings from the belt, before shimmying out of it. He tosses it to the floor and then pushes the stockings down, kicking them off the edge of the bed before turning to grin at Bruce. 

Without saying another word, Bruce wraps his arms around Clint and pulls him close, resting their heads together as he breathes in deeply. He listens to the way Clint breathes and focuses on that, his eyelids feeling heavier and heavier until he drifts off to sleep, his hand resting on the small of Clint’s back.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for any mistakes, yada, yada, yada. :


End file.
